


Magelights

by LaureLey



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, High Fantasy, Snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaureLey/pseuds/LaureLey
Summary: KlausA sleepless mage curled on a windowseat.





	Magelights

Padded pillows and frayed fabric covered the window seat, the veined blues and greens and yellows sharing their comfort with those that dared brave the last of the darkness, and the first of the sun’s rays. Amidst the dry, dusty scent of the tomes and the crisp, sharp smell of pine and cinnamon, a jolt of sharpness could be noted, the byproducts of a tame, white light. The enchanted flames licked at the fingers of the youth lost within the grand halls of this library, noting the passage he’d been reading without searing the aged paper underneath.

His eyes were unfocused, far amongst the plains beyond the cool glass pressed at his side, the rolling little hills of pale straw rustling up to an unannounced wind. The sky was growing light, the dawn’s dull tones calling out to a world barely awoken yet, and the last of the migrating birds greeted the sun as they awoke, rested for yet another day spent aflight.

He was lost, adrift within the clouds, surrounded by the vastness of the sky, his mind full of it, of the thousand and one stars that had faded away as the golden orb approached, of the boundless, endless expanse of the horizon, forever out of the reach of one who sought to stand at it’s edge. Infinity echoed within him, each heartbeat throbbing into the eternal emptiness, until his eyes and his head ached with it, burned with the thoughts that a hundred years could not contain.

The door cracked as it slid open, and his eyes lowered, breaking away from a melancholy that he did not fully understand. The young man sagged against the colourful cushions, their worn exteriors supporting his head as he relaxed within their hold, his blue orbs hidden away behind tired lids as he relaxed for a moment, each breath a slow, careful intake before he straightened, rubbing away the tiredness that insomnia had left him with. There were footsteps among the tall, pine bookshelves, before a familiar face gazed back at him.

He was a tall man, older by perhaps a dozen years, an acquaintance of the pale man upon the window seat– but not one that he would call a close friend. They worked well together– one, the theory, the other, the countless numbers that were too often a lost cause for his younger companion, who’d mixed up one too many times numbers together. Still, it was a relief to see him here, as his senior student was a kind man, who would not scold him for being unable to sleep.

“Here you are.” Silence followed, as the young mage found nothing else to answer to this fact, the tome propped upon his raised knees snapping shut with a single digit keeping track of his page. Lennart did not let this stop him. “Master Adrian has been seeking you since the evening,” the older man went on, worry pulling his dark eyebrows down. “Have you not received his summons?”

The young man finally answered, weariness making him sag once more against the pillows which had supported him through the night. “I have not answered them,” was his reply, before his eyes turned once more to the skies, far outside. But there was no… depth to his thoughts anymore, no churning echoes of vastness. It was silent. So silent…

There was a pause at his admission, the older student astonished by the simple fact that the slender young man before him had simply… _not answered._ Klaus’ wiry frame was nothing to scoff at, to be fair, as he did not lack muscles, but there were says of ancient, dormant Elf blood in his veins– something pushed on by the golden waves upon his brow, tied down at the nape of his neck. His face, as well, kept something of a… regal air to it.

Perhaps this was why he was such a brilliant Theory Crafter. Elves were said, after all, to have been born out of the wells gathered at the crossing of Ley lines, an embodiment of the purest form magic could take. But brilliant mage or not, Elf-blood or not, his companion was still first and foremost a _student_ who was going to be on the very wrong side of his master-teacher if he did not have a very good reason for simply _ignoring_ the summons.

“Why?” Surprised as he was, Lennart found nothing more to add, coming just a step closer, as he hoped to be seated himself, but a low hiss had him pausing mid-stride.

Upon the floor surrounding his younger friend, dozens of papers had been scattered, their pale faces bearing the marks of a pen in the tiny, elegant scribbles that Klaus called ‘legible’. Used to deciphering these like an archeologist would read and ancient, lost language, the older student shooed away the silver tabby who’d been so intent upon keeping his sleeping spot, and gathered the pages together, picking up the mess as much as he could. So this was what had occupied Klaus’ thoughts then– Crafting.

With a wave at his younger student, and expecting the nod that followed, the senior student soon found himself a ragged spot onto the opposite window seat from his companion, brown eyes perusing through the content within his hands. As per usual, most of Klaus’ Theory was lost onto him, something about water and mirrors, with a note of quicksilver which had been barred away. But, the same as always, Klaus’ calculations were slightly off, the beginning of formulae formed atop pages with more drawings and symbols than words, to be 'fixed’ at the bottom of the page, and oftentimes wrongly so.

“Pi is 3.1416, Klaus. You’ve calculated it wrong.” Again. He couldn’t tell _exactly_ where the younger man had gotten embezzled in the numbers, but he knew this much. The results he’d managed was slightly too small. “Your circle is disproportionate.” The blond-haired student before him gave another sigh, but made no move to reach for the papers again, the book he’d held upon his lap slipping to the side as the silver cat who’d been disturbed earlier came to him in search for comfort, a low purr down his throat. Lennart returned to the papers instead.

“Water before a mirror?” Emotions and reflections, a dangerous mix in itself. The formulae that followed were not much more stable, veils and dreams and intangible, solid things, like mist and secrets. And a… gravity? A call? A pull, irresistible, undeniable. The circle within another, protective one. Wards– wards that he knew. “Are you attempting… to pull something _from Beyond_?” He had to be misreading this. It couldn’t be!

“Tying down,” Klaus rectified, his long, slender hand lost for a moment into his sunny-golden waves, before pulling out a ribbon from his hair, a habit that showed itself when the student was in a deep reflection. “Or breaking away.” Now that he mentioned it, Lennart could find the appropriate symbols, air and amber and heart, on the one side of a page, while the other side bore much darker annotations, such as a tear, or perhaps lightning and death. It did not bode well.

“But– that could be _dangerous_.” His companion scolded, worry etched onto his face. “There are a thousand and one side-effects that could occur from breaking… _whatever_ this is!” Bond, there was a chance– bond that was magic born. Fate-bond. This could kill him, or kill his partner– maybe even _both_ , and this was without the _other_ side effects it could have.

“And what if it is a mind-leech?” At this, Lennart had to scoff, and Klaus’ eyes narrowed before he looked away, blue-purple depths turning once more to the skies, painted in their softest pink hues. He’d known this would be the reaction, even from one who _did_ usually take him seriously.

“Mind-leeches are legends. If they _are_ beyond the Giants’ Trails, they are _much_ too far to control _anyone_ , much less a mage of your talent. This is merely paranoia, Klaus.”

But the younger man was not convinced. _Something_ was troubling him, _something_ was touching him, touching his _mind_ , in a way that left him gasping for breath, that left him feeling both hot and cold in the middle of the night. And ashamed. And very, very ashamed.

A shiver whispered past his spine as he shook his head, determined not to think of this, not in the presence of another– and just not at _all_ to be fair. This was _not_ a dream he wished to see again, this was _not_ something he could _enjoy_ , _would_ enjoy. It was a creature– it was a _thing_ playing with his thoughts! Enough was enough. That… _thing_ was not _welcome_ here.

His hand stretched out, wordlessly, and Lennart found no reason not to comply, slipping the papers back into the young man’s calloused palms and watching him tuck them away– _securely_ away. Klaus would not let him run off with his notes, well intended or not. The student _was_ paranoid. For a moment, there was silence, before Lennart tried a different approach, hoping to find… something new– something that could explain what his companion was going through. And for this, first, he needed to know the symptoms.

“Is this why you fear going to sleep, Klaus?” Mind-leeches were– well, were _thought_ to be known for this; their desire for the mind drowning dreams away in blood and flesh, in the horror that their puppets would wreck once the seed was properly sown, was planted so deep it had to be _thorn_ out, and the mind with it. His question had the younger man still for a moment, and the senior student thought he’d gotten it right, until Klaus’ long eyebrows lowered over his eyes.

“No… Not… quite.” The young man eventually admitted, his thumb playing with the edges of the papers that were just not quite aligned with his tome’s pages, tucked away inside the leather-bound volume as his Theory was. There was silence for a moment, before he nodded once. “I _do_ get dreams, however. Dreams that… confound me.”

“What kind of dreams?” His companion’s blue eyes turned back to the skies once more, but the permanent frown upon his brow showed that he was still thinking through it, wondering how much he could say without feeling ashamed once more. Eventually, the young man shook his head as the cat was pushed away, rewarded for his constant purring by the warmth of the spot Klaus was just vacating, tome still clutched into his hands.

“Adrian may have an answer to this, and I truly should not make him wait anymore than he already has,” Klaus spoke this time, a bit more firmly this time as he changed the subject of the conversation. For a moment, this was all that was said, Lennart remaining upon his well-worn spot at the window, watching the younger student’s back as he walked away.

“Klaus– do you lock yourself up in the library every night in the fear you may harm another if you are not alone?” A pause– a _flinch_ almost, and then, the elegant face turned to look at Lennart, his eyes frowning lightly, as Klaus reached for the door before him, pushing it open with a bit more force than necessary.

“Do not be silly, Lennart. Insomnia happens upon many a student– I am merely one of them.” His piece said, and confirmed, there was a nod from the student, before he walked away, book and Theory papers still clutched under his arm.

Silence, for a moment, before Lennart turned to the silver tabby who’d remained behind, lazily curled onto the warmed cushions, with the tip of his tail over his nose. The sky was growing lighter, and soon, more students would be pouring through the library, seeking out answers within the aged books and pine shelves, same as generations upon generations of mages, so it had been before, and so it still was now.

“He is hiding something after all.” What it was precisely, the older student could not say, but Klaus was _bothered_ , and hiding away from the rest of the world as he tried to fix whatever it was on his own. And hiding inside the library. He was searching answers.

But answers for what?

**Author's Note:**

> An old piece of work.


End file.
